I kicked at 'em as they would charge on my feet and l--limbs. I grabbed at 'em, as they charged on my face--arms--and shoulders.
As a big corpulent feller, who, I should judge, was gittin' readdy to jine a Fat mans club, went over me, I catched him by the heel.
My head struck the bedposts, and other furniture.
3 other Muskeeters got straddle of me, and as if I was a hoss, spurred me up purty lively.
All of a sudden the Muskeeter I was hangin' to give a yank, and drew out his foot, left his bute in my hand.
Brandishin' the bute about my head, I cleared at lot of Muskeeters.
Jumpin' to my feet I made things fly for a minuit, pilin' up the killed and wounded in a promiscous heap.
Seein' the Kernal settin' up there enjoyin' the fun, I let fly the bute at him.
The venerable commanding Muskeeter had dodged, and was settin' on the burow, with his thumb on his nose, wrigglin' his fingers at me in a very ongentlemanly manner.
There I was again unarmed, dancin' about, swelled up like a base ball player on match day.
I tride to make a masked battery with a piller. It was no protection again Jarsey Muskeeters.
As RACHEL mourned for her step-mother, I sighed for me home.
"Why, oh why," I cride, "did I leave old Skeensboro?"
A widder wearin' a borrowed suit of mornin'--eleven children cryin' because the governor had been chawed up by Muskeeters crowded into my thoughts.
The army was gettin' reddy to charge onto me agin, and avenge their fallen comrags.
I ceased a sheet and waved it for a flag of truce.
"Kernal," said I, "before we continue this fite, let's take a drink all around, and I'll stand treat."
"Done," said he, "trot out your benzine."
I opened the burow drawer, and took out a black bottle.
I pulled the cork and filled all the glasses, then poured a lot into the wash-bowl, when I handed the bottle to the Kernal.
"Make ready! Take aim! Drink!" Down went the licker.
I laffed a revengeful laff, as every condemned Muskeeter turned up their heels and cride:
"Water--send my bones back to Chiny--mother dear, I'm comein', 300,000 strong--we die--by the hand--of Jarsey--lite--"
And Jarsey litenin', more powerful than the chassepo gun of France or the needle-gun of Prushy, had done its work, and the old man was saved to the world!